Chapter 7

At first glance, their destination looked like any other private hospital; clean, sleek lines, crisp-looking nurses and, underneath, the low persistent hum of efficiency. Standing in the doorway, Spike's body cradled awkwardly in her arms, Buffy tried to define what it was about the place that set her teeth on edge. The smell had transported her instantly back to Sunnydale General, just as all hospitals did now that she had left her home, but there was something else too. Something that had sent her senses into overdrive, her skin buzzing and humming like she'd walked headfirst, straight into a nest. Behind her, Carlo's hand resting on her shoulder exerted a persistent pressure she assumed was intended as reassuring, but only served to remind her of exactly where she was. On completely unknown territory and with serious doubts as to his motives.

Walking swiftly through a pair of slapping double-doors, a demon approached them both with claws extended.

"Is this the vampire?"

Yellow-skinned hands reached for Spike's head and instinctively Buffy took a step backwards.

"Yeah, he's the vampire, what the hell are you?"

"Baffy, this is Dr Vittorio Ama'th," Carlo's voice at her elbow was soft, but with an edge of annoyance. "Vittorio is my personal physician and a very great friend. Vittorio, this is Buffy Summers. The Vampire Slayer."

Doctor? The spotty yellow thing was a doctor? Of what exactly, Buffy didn't like to ask, but if the white coat and the air of brusque disapproval was anything to go by, he was fully qualified. Meeting her eyes, the demon blinked, pale membranes sliding sideway across slitted pupils.

"Charmed I'm sure."

Behind his back, two orderlies with matching horns swiftly wheeled across a gurney and, reaching for Spike again, Vittorio inclined his head.

"Miss Summers, if you will release him to our care now, we have a bath already waiting, "although he was looking at her, she noticed that he directed the comment at Carlo, "We find total immersion is the most effective treatment in cases such as this."

"Of course."

It took a moment for her to grasp exactly what he meant, and when she did she suspected that the shock showed all too plainly on her face. Total immersion in human blood. It made sense of course, Spike's wounds were so severe that ingestion alone probably wouldn't be much help in the shirt term, even so she couldn't help but shudder at the concept. Interrupting her thoughts, Carlo stepped in front of her.

"My sweet, let them take him now. You have done all you can."

Bowing her head, Buffy looked down at Spike's head cradled against her throat and then laid him gently down. Scarlet blood was pooled behind his bottom teeth and as she watched, his lips came together wordlessly to force it out. Stark red ran down his chin and slipped off to soak into the fabric of his t-shirt.

Surrendering Spike to the care of these things somehow made her feel disloyal. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. In the past, pain and passion had been so closely linked for them both that dressing each other's wounds, applying ice packs, had come to mean something else entirely. It was the only time she'd ever let him touch her tenderly and the silent truce that was drawn between them in those private hours together after battle, was something she knew they had both come to treasure. Remembering that now, her heart ached. She wanted so badly to tear the stained fabric from his body and heal him herself, just like she always had; with soft words and gentle touches, exchanging small secretive glances when he cried out from the pain. Although she had never trusted him with her heart, his ability to comfort her and offer her solace had been something she'd come to rely on completely.

"I want to stay with him."

Carlo's hand on her arm stiffened slightly, before falling to his side.

"As you wish."

The slight crease of his brow made her hesitate for a moment. His reactions ever since he'd found her with Spike hardly constituted threatening but, if her gut feeling was anything to go by, he wasn't being altogether straight with her now either. Maybe she should try to keep him sweet though, offer him some excuse for her behaviour, tell him how mixed up she'd been feeling ever since Giles had told her the news. But before she could begin to vocalise her thoughts, the gurney started to move away and she had to run a step or two to catch up with it.

Looking back over one shoulder as they moved toward exit, she was surprised to see that Carlo was not watching her. Deep in conversation with his yellow doctor friend, his expression was devoid of emotion but, as she watched, he took the other's wrist in a grip that made him wince in pain. Although she couldn't see Vittorio's face, fear was evident in every angle of his body; his head twisted sharply sideways as if avoiding The Immortal's gaze. Then the doors closed behind her and they were both gone from sight.


It was mid-afternoon by the time they finished with him. She'd stayed nearby during most of it, holding his hand while he thrashed weakly against the tubes they'd fed into him, speaking softly in his ear, but when they'd bathed him, she couldn't watch. The smell of so much fresh blood tin one place turned her stomach and the idea of seeing Spike lying half-submerged in it was the stuff of her nightmares.

When he'd emerged though, he'd regained consciousness for a short time and, hearing his shouts, she'd pushed her way past two more of the horned orderlies to see him struggling desperately. His eyes were wild, burning azure flame against wet bright-red skin, as he'd stared at something unseen and the sight she knew would probably stay with her to her grave.

Stepping towards her, his hand clawed the air uselessly in front of him.

"Blue! Where the fuck are you...I can't...Where's Angel, did you see him go down?!"

His shoulders heaved, straining with all his might against the arms that held him, but she hesitated, half-wanting to hear what he said next, and half not.

"Tell him we have to retreat. There's no fucking way we can...win this thing...no way...," his strength died and his legs gave way, "Tell him...I can't...tell him to make sure she's..."

She'd moved forward then and caught him as he'd fallen, naked and blood-wet into her embrace and as his breath had left him she'd heard him say her name. The way he spoke it made it sound more like a catechism.

Now, curled silently into a chair beside his bed, feet drawn up beneath her, she watched him sleep. Rinsed clean of the blood, his hair fell damply over his forehead and, without thinking, she reached over and smoothed it back. Watching him sleep had always been a guilty pleasure of hers. His physical beauty wasn't something she'd really noticed at first and, when she finally had, it wasn't an attraction she'd felt able to admit to. Waxing lyrical about a person's eyes, the smooth, clean lines of their muscled torso, that was something people in actual relationships did. People who trusted other people not to throw it back in their faces at a later date. Besides which, Spike was vain enough already and admitting that she sometimes studied him while he wasn't looking - tried to memorise the way light turned the angular planes and curves of his body into sculpture – that would probably have tipped him right over the edge.

Smiling slightly at the thought, she lifted a hand and traced the line of his collarbone. Things were different later though, when he'd come back. They'd been more honest with each other, laid everything bare. The thing that had grown between them had been wholly different; a new start for a new soul. But, by the time they'd got around to telling each other how they felt, time had out.

"Hey."

Her fingertip hesitated, hovering near his skin, until a hand came slowly over hers and covered it. Looking down into his face, her throat constricted.

"Hey yourself," she said quietly.

His eyes looked tired, the blue not quite at full strength yet and, after a second or two, he closed them again, frowning slightly.

"The doctor said it'll still hurt for a while."

Her voice sounded flat and unreal somehow, like she was reading from a script, but his eyes came open again to regard her calmly. Talking to him after so long, after thinking she never would again, felt strange. Like trying to remember words of a language she'd long since forgotten. Forcing herself to relax her posture, she laced her fingers together in her lap.

"He says that your legs will take the longest to heal. They were...the bones were pretty near shattered. He said that you were pretty healthy to start with though, so that would...probably...you know help. With the healing I mean."

"Uh huh."

He shifted a little, as if trying to gauge the extent of the damage himself and then nodded as if in agreement to something. Outside in the corridor, the sudden sound of the doors slapping open made her jump and she saw his gaze dart briefly to her before settling back on the shape of his body under the covers.

"He say how long it would take?"

His voice was perfectly calm, as if he was asking a stranger the time of day, and it took a moment for her to answer.

"He said...a week...maybe two. I don't think he's had too much experience of this kind of thing though. He said he'd never known a vamp survive after losing so much blood," she smiled weakly, "I got the feeling he'd like to write a paper on you."

The vampire's eyes stayed fixed unblinking on his feet and, for what seemed like an age, she stared at them too. The silence between them was palpable and, slowly, she reached out and touched his arm.

"Hey...you said some stuff before...about what happened in L.A. It sounded pretty intense."

His eyes slid sideways to stare at her hand.

"Yeah well, was out of my box pretty much. Say all kinds of crap when you're half dead. All sorts of stuff you don't mean." Reaching to the side-table for the jug of water there, he let her hand drop away carelessly onto the covers. "Can't say I remember much. Besides, one scrap's pretty much the same as another when you get down to it, right?"

Confused, Buffy felt a flush of warmth reaching up her throat to her cheeks. Moving her hand back to her lap, she looked down at the back of it.

"So that's all the Doc had to say was it? That I'm stuck in this place till the legs are fixed?" He sounded vaguely annoyed now and, filling a tumbler full of ice-water, he gulped it down and then filled it again, "Can't say I'm too thrilled about the prospect. Spent enough time hanging around hospitals to last me two bloody lifetimes. And I've never been one for jigsaws."

Clearing her throat, Buffy raised her head to look at him again.

"I thought...if you wanted to, you could come stay with Dawn and me. You don't know anyone in Italy and...I mean we could take care of you, at least until you're strong enough to..."

Something drifted across his face; a cloud, and then was gone. Meeting her eyes, his mouth twitched into a sardonic smile,

"S'ok. Don't really relish the idea of being spoon-fed by a woman again. Seem to remember it didn't work out too well the last time."

Drusilla? He was comparing her to Drusilla? A picture of the female vampire's cold smirking face flashed before Buffy's eyes and she felt a bubble of painful anger rise in her chest. Pushing it down, she tried to control her voice.

"You think I'd offer to help you out of pity?"

"Why else?"

Spike's left eyebrow lifted a fraction and red heat flooded her cheeks. Why was he acting this way? Like they meant nothing to each other? Like she hadn't once been the whole world to him?

"Spike, why would you even ask that? Because I care about you. Because I actually give a damn whether you live or die."

The eyes looking into hers narrowed with a flash of gold.

"Dead already, remember? 'Fraid you were about a hundred years late on that score," his grip on the blankets tightened and he looked over at the door. His jaw twitched, "And you know - up until four years ago I was managing pretty well without your help or anyone else. Got myself in some pretty bad scrapes too, but somehow always managed to get myself out. That's what made the difference between me and a thousand other vamps. I don't give up. I never give up. You of all people should know that."

The air between them crackled with intensity and, returning his gaze, Buffy was suddenly filled with a terrible sense of foreboding; as if something had opened up in front of her - wide and yawning - and she was unable to stop herself from moving towards it. Shaking his head, Spike looked away first, down at his outstretched legs beneath the sheets and then slowly back to her.

When he spoke again, his voice was as calm and smooth as an empty lake.

"It's over Buffy. Whatever there was between us, it's gone. I think it's been gone for a long time. I think...maybe I just couldn't admit it to myself. Or maybe I didn't really want to believe it, but I know it now. Knew it the minute I opened my eyes and saw you sitting there with that look on your face."

She was falling. She could feel it. Sitting perfectly still, listening to him talk, she could feel the world falling out from under her and there was nothing she could do to stop it Nothing she could do but put her hands out in front and hope like hell that the drop wouldn't end her.

Some things in this world, they were just constant. The sun rose in the morning, the tide came in at night and Spike loved her. A man who she come to trust and care for above any other, felt the same way about her and – whether he was alive or dead – that had been the knowledge that had sustained her through the very worst of the last year. The idea that that could ever change, that he could even say the words seemed ridiculous. Like something they might have done as a cruel joke, in mean-spirited moment right before they'd fallen back into each other's arms. That he could ever actually mean them though, that had never even occurred to her before that moment.

Seemingly oblivious, Spike went on speaking, a soft almost consolatory tone now that somehow only made the feeling grow, the hopelessness more real.

"I'm going to be fine, you said so yourself and there's no reason to feel like you owe me anything. You don't. What I did for you - it wasn't really for you. It was for me. My way of making up for things I suppose, for paying the world back a little of what I took from it. 'Spose there's always been a little of the martyr in me after all. Maybe I didn't want to admit that either.

And this thing with you and The Immortal - I'll admit it hurt at first. Felt like someone was fucking skewering my heart if truth be told, but when A...when I'd had time to think about things, I realised something. I realised that, if this bloke can make you happy, if he can put a smile on your face and give you all the things you want, if he can give you the life you've always deserved, " he inclined his head, frowned, "Well then he's a better man than me, isn't he? He has to be."

The bottom came then, dark and hard and flat, and it drove the breath right out of her. Left her staring wide-eyed and disbelieving at his face, just like she had a whole year before. Only this time she was the one dying. She was the one turning to ash and crumbling away.

"I'm grateful for this though. I know what I said before - about not bothering, back in the box I mean - but I'm thankful you did, "

He smiled a little and this time when he reached out and took her hand, she didn't even try to disguise the trembling. Squeezing it, Spike dipped his head, trying to get her to look at him, but somehow she couldn't seem to lift her head.

"Buffy, all I've ever wanted is for you to be happy. That you've found someone who can give you that - well - that means the world to me. Makes me thankful that I did what I did. Makes it all worthwhile."

A finger touched her chin to bring her head up and, when she didn't speak, Spike sighed softly then raised himself up on one elbow.

"Looks like visiting hours are over."

Turning, she saw who he was looking at. Outside in the corridor, Carlo stood - quietly regal. A pale suit jacket was draped over one arm and in his right hand, he held a dark mass of roses.

"Besides - don't you have somewhere you have to be?"